


Not Quite...

by out_there



Category: West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-08
Updated: 2005-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wonders if it's telling that Josh now says he would have, could have, and had almost been great."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite...

**Author's Note:**

> Sam-centric ficlet. Set during S4. Written for the Contrelamontre challenge to start a fic using the phrase "This isn't the worst moment in his life".

This isn't the worst moment of his life. Hearing the election results, the announcement of Seaborn, followed by numbers that were almost low enough to be embarrassing, was almost the worst moment of his life, but not quite.

The worst moment had been a week ago. It was sitting in a bar, Toby beside him, and the crushing realization that everyone was right. The knowledge that he was going to lose had been a sucker punch, had left him dizzy and short of breath. He'd tried to smile, tried to ignore the waves of disappointment, tried to stay afloat on a raft of logic and rationales, but the best he'd achieved was a numb acceptance.

He was too tired to fight it and too weary to refute it, and he wished he was too exhausted to care.

He thinks of beaches, of reporters and microphones and camera flashes, of repeating phrases again and again. Repeating them until they convinced nobody, until the words wouldn't make sense and the sentences blurred and merged with the sound of the waves. He remembers smiling until his face ached, until the smile felt like a parody, until he felt like a satire of how a politician should look, should act, should talk. He remembers wishing he could pull his shoes off, wishing he was alone. He wanted to just stand at the water's edge, to feel the grainy sand between his toes and let the cool water lap over his feet.

He almost wishes he was there now, and briefly considers buying the whole bottle of scotch and getting a cab to the waterside. He could sit there, under the stars, stare into the empty black waters and get thoroughly trashed. Toby would probably strangle him if pictures got published of him drunk in public. That thought alone is enough to make him laugh and turn his attention back to the email in front of him.

It's just a few sentences and he's still not sure how to respond. He reads it aloud just to hear the flow of the words in the air. "Sam, I just heard." From the time of the email, he knows it's true. The first thing Josh did when he heard was to send off a quick email to reassure an old friend. The first thing Sam did was accept the glass of scotch Toby handed him.

"You would have been great." He remembers Josh saying that before. Back when a few years made the difference between an up-and-coming politico and a kid taking a semester off college to help out. He remembers drinking cheap victory wine and the sweet taste of it on Josh's tongue. They talked about the world, and politics, and college choices, and he remembers Josh telling him he'd be great. Whatever he choose to do, he'd be great at it.

He felt decades older when Josh showed up at Gage Whitney and he remembers feeling as young as a child when he walked out of that boardroom. Laughing in the rain, Josh had told him this was it, this was the real thing and they'd be great, they'd do great things, and that nothing could stop them.

He's approaching forty and he wonders if it's telling that Josh now says he would have, could have, and had almost been great. Or if it's just late, literally and metaphorically, and they're both too tired for enthusiasm.

The last line of the message is simple, "_Call me – Josh_," but he hasn't picked up the phone yet. Josh may be only a few states away, but the distance feels like continents, worlds, galaxies. Sam doesn't want to hear that distance through the phone line and he isn't up to filling the awkward silences. The disappointment is still too fresh, too painful, and it feels as if it's ripped through him like a bullet. That imagery makes him swallow and think of Rosslyn, and nights that were far worse than this will ever be.

He hits reply and says as much as he can bear to.

_"This isn't the worst moment of my life.  
It's not even close.  
Sam."_


End file.
